“So This Is Christmas?”
“That’s not the name of the song!”
I frowned as I glanced over at my older brother. “How do you know? You’re the one that asked in the first place.”
“That’s enough,” my father’s rough voice warned us, sending us a reprimanding glare through the rearview mirror.
“Sorry,” I muttered, choosing to look out the window, admiring the delicate white contrasting with the heavy green of the Evergreen trees that bordered my grandfather’s property.
“Behave when we get here,” my father added, almost as an afterthought as he pulled our SUV into the driveway.
“Whatever,” my brother scoffed, half-way out the car before my father could say anything more on the subject.
Inside, the house was lively with voices and the faint sound of music coming from the living room. My aunt was the first to greet us, forcing my brother and I into an unappreciated embrace that lasted a beat or two longer than necessary. “Come on inside!”
I chose a seat in the den as far away from my brother as I could manage, watching the younger kids play with the toys that had already unwrapped from Santa Claus. There was scuffling, some arguing about who had rights to what, but it was ultimately to be expected from young children. Still, I found it annoying and silently brooded alone in my corner.
“You don’t seem happy,” my grandfather remarked as he suddenly chose a stool next to me.
“My brother,” I said, glaring in his direction.
“You’ll appreciate him one day,” my grandfather said and I tried not to whine because everyone already said the same thing.
“Trust me,” my grandfather winked before handing me a tiny box. It was delicately wrapped in silky red paper, a small bow taped to the corner. “Open it,” he encouraged me and I needed no further incentive. “Well?” he prodded once I opened the lid.
“What is it?” I asked, pulling out a peculiar pendant.
“It’s from the Vietnam war,” my grandfather replied. “I want you to have it.”
“Why?” I asked, feeling both shocked and excited by the prospect of such a rare gift.
“Because I want you to have it,” my grandfather said. “To always remember me.”
I gave him a curious look in reply before returning my attention back to the pendant. “Is it special?”
“It’s very special,” my grandfather said, smiling down at me. “Just like you.”
His words were carefully chosen, inviting a proud warmth to the center of my chest. And years later, even after my grandfather had left this world, I still sometimes brought out the pendant just to feel that moment again.
